I'm Trapped Here but Still I'm Free
by StrongerThanISeem
Summary: Communism is a crime; capitalism is king in 1919. The head of the General Information Division, Noah Puckerman, must deport all anarchists and communists. But the personal agenda against one man, Kurt, seems to become something more. SLASH.
1. Prologue

TITLE: I'm Trapped Here but Still I'm Free

SUMMARY: In 1919, the Red Scare had made communism a source of terror for Americans. For one Noah Puckerman, head of the General Information Division, all he had to do to help keep the U.S. safe was keep the anarchists and communists out. But perhaps this growing bond with one of the prisoners will change his mind?

RATING: T

WARNINGS: Is angst a warning? Slash. Eventual language and a reference to sex. Maybe even *actual* smex. Who knows?

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_1919: october 2nd_

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"Do you have him in custody?" Noah Puckerman inquired to the silent and well-dressed agent across the polished desk.

"Yes sir, we do. He and his accomplice are in separate cells, with no contact." Matthew Rutherford responded. His features were darkened with the weariness of the day which had been far too complicated for either man's taste.

Noah—or as his co-workers referred to him, Puck—pulled on the lapel of his jacket and peered at his companion who did the same. The small office room was cast in an odd fluorescent glow from the orange tinted lamp. Heat pushed against the wallpaper and crept beneath the stiff jackets of the young men. For being October, it was relatively cold outside, and to make up for the cold, the heaters were set at full blast.

"Has he managed to cause any harm in the past few days?" Matthew shook his head briefly before reclining in the vinyl chair. Puck breathed out, and chanced a small smirk.

Having the two most renowned pains in his ass sitting in the building's personal jail cells made life a little easier for the aspiring FBI agent. The duo had caused such disarray amongst the already burdened United States.

In Puck's, and pretty much all of the assigned unit's opinion, this had to have been the most moronic couple in the entire world. Creating mass communist hysteria and defacing not only the Great War, but the government that founded the most idealistic country of al time? It was as if they were asking for the death sentence.

However, the government enforced the deportation policy against Reds and anarchists, and as one of the greatest (if he did say so himself) FBI agents to head the Justice Department's General Intelligence Division, he would enforce it to the greatest extent of his power.

He'll especially use his power against the man who had plagued him in his efforts of maintaining peace for his beloved country. His partner was no sweet blossom either.

Puck felt his smirk dissipate and glanced back over to Matthew, who seemed lost in his thoughts as well. The tanned male cleared his throat once and immediately had the attention of his subordinate.

"Let's have 'em stir for a while, and we'll personally interrogate the Wonder Twins."

Puck's company nodded before excusing himself. Watching as he left, the head of the department dropped his shaven head into his large palms. It was nearing eleven, and while he would have been able to speed through the infant hours of the morning, but after running around all day trying to secure _every last detail_ for the two wanted anarchists, he was burnt out.

The papers covering every last piece of information he had collected and needed to make a trial was haphazardly paced on his desk next to the can of ink pens and the single photograph of his younger sister.

Puck skimmed his fingers across the smiling face of the young girl. This was why he dedicated himself to his country and keeping it secure. His sister was all he had left since his mother had walked stone drunk into a street and was toppled by a passing automobile. All Puck wanted to do was provide a future for his sister, and as he rose in the ranks, the more her future seemed to brighten.

The files containing background on the two anarchists sat leisurely to the side and Puck couldn't fight the victorious look he sent it. He knew, however, that it would never truly be done with until both of those cretins were either behind bars forever, or six feet under.

Puck leant back against his plastic seat, relishing the serene moments of peace. His eyes lowered and his relaxed state drew him to slumber.

The muscular twenty-eight year old completely drifted off with the thought of his sister, his nation, and the feminine radical Kurt Hummel along with his lawyer comrade Mercedes Jones wafting through his head.

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_Yes, this is incredibly short. This is the prologue, though. I had this idea when we were discussing the famous anarchist Emma Goldman (who, if you couldn't tell, was Kurt) in history. Emma Goldman was J. Hoover's (a.k.a. Puck) first exhibition case. She didn't necessarily believe in communism, but she did resent war time. _

_This __**is**__ slash. But again, this __**is**__ angst. _

_Enjoy my much-to-be-desired prologue and please critique._

_(I'm such a slash fan that I'm making history homosexual!)_


	2. Chapter 1

TITLE: I'm Trapped Here, But Still I'm Free (1/?)

AUTHOR: polariodfriend

RATING: High T!

WORD COUNT: 2,869

SPOILERS: Completely AU, though now that Season 2 is out, methinks I'm going to incorporate some of the newbies.

WARNINGS: Homosexual relations of the romantic persuasion; talk about murder and anarchy; curse words

A/N: So it turns out that I may have accidentally sort of kind of forgotten about this story. No worries! I'm going to try to keep up with this from now on-especially that I have good research on all of the characters. Sorry for the wait, my lovelies!

Also, this is a history!AU, but not everything is going to be accurate because I have artistic liberty and I'm not afraid to use it! Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman may seem like their historical counterparts (Emma Goldman and J. Edgar Hoover, respectively) but things will be substantially different: don't come after me with facts, por favor. -_-

I'm back, baby!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own it. Wish I did though...that Golden Globe would look nice on my shelf...

I also don't own any writing by Emma Goldman or Alexander Berkman.

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_1919: october 4__th_

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It wasn't all that easy to stay entertained in the barren room they pushed him in. Yes, the dirty walls could use a repainting, and maybe if those bars weren't there the atmosphere wouldn't be so somber.

Then again, if those bars weren't there, he wouldn't be sitting here.

On a piss covered mattress.

_Ew_.

Kurt crossed one leg over the other, tracing imaginary designs in the wall with his eyes. Every now and then his fist would clench upon his knee, or his temple would pulse, but he was the picture of relaxation and poise.

Staying in this place for a day and a half straight would frustrate anyone.

Really, was he all that bad? Was he this dastardly criminal intent on burning down the state capital in the name of some obscure idea?

The brunette could've shrugged. Honestly, he _would_ do all of those things. But to think of it as criminal, when to him it was so dear…

And maybe that one assassination attempt might not have been the best of ideas…

…still. He stands firm in the belief that he did—is doing—the right thing, whether or not the morons running the FBI realize it.

Kurt sat there, twitching hands and all, wondering how Mercedes was. He didn't even know where his partner in crime was being held, and despite how much the young woman could handle, he still worried for her. She was his number one gal, and quite frankly, the only person he had left.

His father had been repairing large naval ships for the Great War some time ago, but Kurt hadn't heard from him in over a year. Kurt could only hope that his only living relative was still alive.

His mother had passed away a long while ago thanks to tuberculosis. He couldn't remember much of her, which was fine by him. With how things were turning out the past few days, he doesn't know whether or not he'd even want her memory to see him like this.

Hell, he didn't even want to see _himself_ like this! Kurt knew he was a quick-witted, opinionated man and rightly so, but his pride was severely bruised sitting here.

Sure, he'd been arrested a multitude of times, and had been fined, and had been summoned—the whole damn government didn't seem to like him—but to be captured by _FBI?_ What critics called uneasy and possibly unreliable, and what patriots call a blessing in disguise, had managed to find and arrest the two most wanted anarchists in the entire States? Unorthodox at the least.

A miracle at best.

Yet here he sat, trying to keep himself entertained unless he wanted to go mad. He finally understood why Mercedes was a different person after she was released from prison. Without stimulus for your brain, you would surely lose your bearings.

That's what this was about, anyway. Losing yourself of these restraints, of your inhibitions to degrade, enslave and murder.

At least, it was what anarchy was about.

Realizing his chance to distract himself with philosophical ponderings—a favorite past-time of his, Kurt was about to delve into his mind before footsteps echoed down the hallway.

The sound was creepy, bouncing off of the cement and metal of the underground holding area for all "captives." Kurt's ears perked at every new step, which was coming closer and closer. Kurt's mouth set into a grim line and he stared out through the bars from the bed.

His defiant stare met an imposing mass of muscle and cotton suit, as soon as the steps stopped in front of his 'door.' Closely shaved head unusual to the common quaffed hairstyle, impossibly chiseled face, and broad shoulders.

Damn.

The FBI may be irrevocably incompetent, but they sure had hot agents.

Kurt had to reorganize his mind for a split second as the man before him unlocked the bar door with a ring of keys. When the suit turned from closing the door—keeping it unlocked, Kurt noticed—the brunette's expression was utterly neutral.

The god-like—if Kurt even believed in a god, which, trust him, he didn't—man matched his expression. A battle of the wills commenced; servant of the law versus the enemy of the government, both too stubborn to give in first.

Feeling a twitch starting to form in his temple again, Kurt grimaced.

"May I help you, _sir_?"

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Puckerman had to hand it to the little demon bastard; he put just enough smarm into the _sir_ that he felt the slap of disgust aimed at him.

If there was one thing Puck hated, it was the fact that people, who were even U.S. citizens, could turn their back on this country that has beaten all others and claim it to be evil. He hated people who thought that death and destruction was a justifiable alternative to the glory of the States. He absolutely loathed others who thought they were greater than the greatest good in the mortal world.

But what he despised the most, out of everything, was a person like that, who still thought they were superior after having witnessed the supremacy of the American government.

Did Hummel not know that he was beaten?

The FBI had followed the feminine boy's movements; his speeches, his family's movements, even his beliefs. They knew everything about him. They may not have been able to catch him at every stop, but damn it, they did—he did. Now Hummel was sitting here, where scum and traitors have sat before him; fitting, Puck supposed.

He won. Hummel lost.

Now only to wipe that condescending tone out of fancy-pant's voice.

"Yes, in fact, you can."

A brown eyebrow rose. That seemed to be the only response the agent would get.

"You are in serious trouble, Mr. Hummel."

"I would never have thought."

"We can play games, Mr. Hummel. I have all of the time in the world." Pusk said, leaning against the bars.

Kurt would never have thought a federal agent would look so relaxed, especially against a "threat" like him.

"I apologize. I was a discourteous host." Kurt tilts his head, glaring at the man before him. "I haven't even asked you your name. It feels like we're going so fast."

Puck's eyes widened at the flirtatious—though obviously mocking—tone of the younger man. He knew Hummel advocating for stopping prejudice against homosexuality, but such a thing was rare enough to even suspect that Hummel was a gay himself.

A fag. Huh.

Well, the voice and features were feminine enough.

"My name is Agent Puckerman, head of the General Intelligence Division of the Bureau of Investigation."

"Did you have to take a test just to remember the name of your job, Noah?"

"Agent, or Agent Puckerman is fine." Puck spat.

"Looks like you are not up to, quote, playing games, _agent._"

Annoyed hazel eyes met defiant glasz, which flickered ever so briefly on Puck's tensing jaw and shoulders.

Kurt almost smirked in triumph over agitating yet another brainless agent, who just happened to have a fancy title to his name, but no merit.

He hated this damn incompetent government.

Least they can do is send a capable person to ruin his life.

This? This is just insulting.

"I suppose not, Mr. Hummel. Though, it is not surprising to hear that this is only a game to you. Someone so passionate about mayhem and communism would take justice lightly? Makes sense."

Blue-green eyes darkened. However, the rest of the porcelain-like face remained impassive. Kurt was adamant about not letting this slave monkey get the better of him.

"I am inclined to disagree, Agent. You clearly have your information confused."

"Do I? The GID knows everything about you and Ms. Jones."

"A raid of personal information would provide that, wouldn't it?" Kurt asked sarcastically.

Several days ago, Kurt and Mercedes returned to the woman's office to retrieve some files. What they were met with was a disarray of papers and photos. Upon searching through the mess, the duo realized that several documents were stolen, including the latest plans from the No Conscription League which actively resisted U.S. involvement in the Great War.

A day after that, Mercedes and Kurt were apprehended by agents.

Now, they were here.

"We had authority to conduct that so-called raid, Mr. Hummel."

"On what basis was it conducted, exactly?"

"You had violated the Espionage Act. We had to investigate."

"You mean that trivial law that is keeping me here? The one that goes against every principle for which the founders of your country strove for? Do tell."

"Do not even try it, criminal." Puck's demeanor changed rapidly. Kurt was taken aback.

Shoulders tensed and defensive, jaw tightly clenched, forehead creased, and eyes glaring so intensely Kurt was sure that he could have burst into flames. The acidic words the agent spat seemed a complete turn around from the annoyed-but-trying-to-be-polite interrogator. Kurt's eyes narrowed in response to this personality change.

"What? Did I say the wrong thing to upset you? Or did I tell you a truth you didn't want to hear?"

"You have no idea what you are talking about; you cannot say such ignorant things about the way we operate. You are nothing but scum who is displeased with how he has been treated and blames the government. The United States has done many things to protect and serve the people, and these things are great. The Espionage Act keeps people safe and allows us to aid people in the war effort. There is nothing unconstitutional about it. If anything, it is a reminder of everything our Constitution stands for."

Puck had said everything as quietly as possible, hands balled into fists at his sides. His words were sharp and Kurt felt them. He felt every single moment of respect Puck had for his suffocating government and pitiful country. He felt the rush of protectiveness in every syllable. Feeling all of these things only made Kurt angrier.

The slender male slowly rose from the disgusting mattress. While build was entirely different, the men were the same height. Kurt planted his fists on his hips.

"You are an incompetent buffoon who needs to open his eyes." He stated.

"How dare you—"

"How dare _you_. What do you do in life? You are a dog to the government—do you think they care about you? The truth is that they do not. Humanity has become complacent in the United States. These people you are protecting are only going to be hurt by you. I have witnessed many things to attest to the fact that this government is our problem. Giving us these rules, forcing these morals onto us, does not allow us to grow as a society. War and death are not our fault—is not _my_ fault. You capitalists are lazy bastards who blame free-thinkers because you do not comprehend consequences of greed and power."

Kurt huffed out a breath, his cheeks beginning to grow red from anger. Puck stood there, flushing in fury and about to retort before Kurt cut him off.

"This Espionage Act—explain to me how this _defines_ your Constitution! It means that no one has a voice against your government. What is that First Amendment you cherish? Freedom of speech? I see none of it here! We spoke our minds, but you twist our words and enslave us under your pretenses! If you are so sure you are serving the people, try understanding them first!" Kurt ended, shouting.

Puck stepped closer to him and grabbed the front of Kurt's silk gray shirt. The agent raised a fist.

"I did not come here to be screamed at by a piece of revolting dirt beneath my shoe. I came here to give you a compromise." Puck growled.

"I'm overjoyed." Kurt spat.

"You give me the names of every unauthorized foreign person in your associations and tell your anarchist pals to quit."

The brunette sneered. "Keh chyertu. Nyeh dam." He hissed.

The agent released his hold on Kurt before stepping back. "It would be best if you agreed to do what I ask."

Kurt glared in response.

"After all," Puck growled, "you would not want your girl to get hurt, would you?"

Puck smirked when Kurt's eyes widened.

_Son of a_—no, the agent had to be bluffing. Mercedes could hold her own against a horde of dumb males and was as quick as lightening. She did not become the greatest expert in law for nothing. Besides, even thought Kurt knew the U.S. Government was heartless and cruel, he could not see an agent as dedicated to the cause as this one was, doing something so lawful as harming a detainee.

…could he?

"Are you threatening me, Agent Puckerman?"

Puck did not expect Hummel's unnaturally high voice to go that low. If Hummel did not look like a girl as well, then perhaps Puck could have taken him as a physical threat.

He did, though, see the threat in those unique eyes. Puck knew that Mercedes Jones and Hummel were close. Many speculated that they were lovers; Puck believed it as first, too. They had been through countless journeys across the nation, in and out of compromising situations, and flitted between books and speeches. Kurt appeared to be very protective of the heavy-set black girl.

Kurt could have growled at this man before him. Not even a man; a filthy, putrid dog. Threatening to hurt the only girl in his heart—

Puck stood unfazed against the warning in Hummel's voice. He could see the vicious thoughts in Kurt's head but honestly, there was nothing the younger man could do to harm him.

"You can call it a threat, Hummel. I call it _protecting by any means necessary._ If thousands of people are safe on the cost of two meager criminals' lives, I can live with that. I'll just be doing my job."

"You are the biggest piece of slime on the face of this planet." Kurt seethed.

"You are simply entertainment for the moment; you'll sit in this room for a few months before being deported." Puck stated, trying to calm himself. Kurt, however, was still ruffled.

"When this mindset, and this damn war, destroys your country, you'll know how wrong you are. How wrong this government is. But by then; it'll be too late. The damage will be done." Kurt vehemently declared.

Puck straightened his jacket before turning around and opening the bar door. The detainee obviously wouldn't talk, and there was plenty o time to crack him. Right now, Puck just wanted to get home, see his sister, and crack open some whiskey to deal with this obnoxious pain in his ass.

As Puck slid the door shut with a _clang_, he glanced back at Hummel, who remained standing, hands balled at his sides, in the middle of the room. Puck scowled in farewell.

Puck began walking down the dimly lit hallway of the confinement area, where there were a few holding cells and conference rooms built from cement and wood. Halfway down, he heard a call.

"Oh, and agent?" Kurt was at the bars, hands gripping the metal and staring daggers into Puck's back. "If you ever think of laying a finger on Mercedes…"

Puckerman tilted his head to stare at the feminine man. Kurt's face was dark and furious.

"… I'm not afraid to commit murder."

The sound of Puck walking away was the only reply.

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Matt was facedown at his desk when Puck walked up to him. Both men had shrugged their jackets off. Matt, however, was sweating due to exhaustion, not anger.

"Any luck with Jones?" Puck asked through gritted teeth.

Mat glanced at his boss before staring down at the papers before him.

"Not at all. She just kept quoting some lawyer jargon at me that I don't understand. Then she said swore a bunch in Russian and called me a fascist pig to my face."

"Yeah, well, Hummel is a piece of work too. God, I need liquor." Puck grumbled, sitting on his sticky leather chair. Just thinking about those enraged blue-green eyes riles him up and makes him want to bark at someone…

"I hear you on that. Want to go to the bar in thirty?" Matt offers, knowing they can officially leave work soon. Puck moans and nods.

"Yes please."

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Thirty minutes later, both men had their trench coats on and their paperwork safely tucked away. Lights were turned off Farewells were said to the unlucky souls who had to work night-shift at the GID.

As the two men walk out of the agency building into the crowded streets of New York, Puck realizes something.

"Matt, you speak Russian?"

The black man nodded. "I know four different languages. Russian happens to be one of them."

"Do you know what "keh chyertu, nyeh dam" means?" Noah said, trying to trill the _r_ but ultimately failing.

"Uhh, let me see. I think it means "Go to hell, I'm not giving you shit, so fuck off." That help?" Matt asks, looking disturbed at the vulgarity he just had to translate.

Puck does not seem as surprised as Matt.

"Well, damn."

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_I found out some interesting fun facts while doing research! Did you know that Emma Goldman, the person Kurt is portraying, was actually bisexual? Yep; she had a lesbian affair as an adolescent. And—and—and—J. Edgar Hoover was rumored to be homosexual! No lie! I just found this out and this was what made me think of this story._

_As for some of the info in the story: I know Kurt is German, and he speaks Russian. I'll explain why later. I know Puck seems like a jerk, but that's kind of already been explained. You'll see more of Mercedes next time! _

…_don't you just love sexual tension?_

_Review! _


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